


Mother knows best

by mari681



Series: A Mothers' Plan [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, HP: EWE, Sorta Kinda Marriage Law Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mari681/pseuds/mari681
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if A MARRIAGE LAW was enacted, Hermione/Draco, BUT... FEMALE Muggle-borns must marry a pureblood if they wish to stay in the wizarding world. Reasoning is so that no two muggle-borns are married, and this decreases the amount of matches (and purebloods inconvenienced) needed to be made.</p><p>               Main pairing: Hermione/Draco<br/>               Other Pairings: Cannon? Not seen.<br/>Title is a work in progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother knows best

**Author's Note:**

> What if A MARRIAGE LAW was enacted, typical Hermione/Draco, and instead of being AGAINST it, Hermione was actually the one (in secret) behind it? FEMALE Muggle-borns must marry a pureblood if they wish to stay in the wizarding world. Reasoning is so that no two muggle-borns are married, and this decreases the amount of matches (and purebloods inconvenienced) needed to be made.
> 
> The above was my original thought. It obviously changed, and I have a whole lot of ideals for this... universe, if you can call it that... Thus, the series. :P Narcissa was a Slytherin, after all.  
> Oh, FYI, this is my Valentine Days' gift to y'all... I didn't quite get my other stories updated yet. :(

      

               **So, perhaps, start with (Hermione and Dracos’) daughter, asking mother (Hermione) how her and her father fell in love. Hermione glances up, across. Draco smirks back, and they say she isn't old enough?**

 The fire was crackling, the owners of the house going about their after dinner routine. All was silent, the mother knitting, the father reading The Daily Prophet, the eight-year old daughter looking at scrapbooks on the floor in front of the fireplace. All of a sudden, the daughter looked up, dirty blonde curly hair bouncing. “Momma? How did you meet Pappi?”

The wife looked up, and grinned at her husband, running her hands through her bushy brown hair to tie it back. “Well, love, we knew each other in school.”

”Hogwarts, Momma?” asked the girl, sitting up and crossing her legs, intelligence in her eyes. “But none of these pictures have both you and Pappi.”

 The husband smirked at his wife “I told you she would be precocious.” Then looked down at their daughter, affection in his silver grey eyes obvious. “We didn’t like each other in school. It wasn’t until after that we became friends.”

The wife smirked back at her husband a glint in her eyes “Not quite friends, even then.” but then she moved to sit on the floor next to their daughter. “It happened like this, darling. Pappi and I were told we had to get married. Then we fell in love, and had you, and lived happily ever after.”

Their daughter frowned. “But Momma! That only happens in stories. What really truly happened?”

The husband stood up, scooping up their daughter, and extending a hand to his wife. “That is a tale for when you are older, little snitch. Now, to bed.”

“But Pappi!” she whined. “I am older!”

The wife hid a grin, before taking their girl. “Now, now. You are a big girl. And big girls need lots of sleep. Shall I call Flopsy to put you to bed, or do you want us to?”

The girl pouted, but then nodded at the mention of Flopsy. “Flopsy please, Momma. She always checks under the bed for me.”

The wife glared at the husband to keep him from saying anything. “Yes, love. Flopsy it is.” She then turned her head to the side, before calling “Flopsy!”

“Yes, Mistress?” asked the creature that popped in, before seeing the girl. “Can Flopsy put Little Missy to bed?”

 She sighed, sitting the girl upright on the ground. “Yes please, Flopsy. But don’t call me Mistress!”

“Yes, Mistress.” Was the creatures’ only reply, as she took the girl by the hand with a smile, and popped away.

With little ears out of the way, the husband turned to his wife with a smirk. “Surely you remember how we “met”.

She hit his shoulder gently, but then smiled, and leaned into his arms. “Of course I do, idiot. And I still think you engineered the whole thing. After all, I was friends with your mother, not you. And I recall how much you loathed Ron, even back then.”

His smirk changed to a grin. “Nope.” He popped the last syllable. “Not me. Mother.”

“Really? I…” she thought back. Then again, yes, it did make sense.            

**And falls into a reminiscence, starting from the announcement of the marriage law, and a breakfast at the Weasleys.**

It was a sunny Monday morning, and those seem to be the mornings most likely to hold bad, terrible things. Or so they seem, at first. It was a sunny Monday morning, three summers after the War ended, and those left of the Weasley family were just sitting down to breakfast. Arthur at the head of the table, Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Harry opposite other. Molly bustling about, setting out the food. Bill with Fleur at Shell Cottage, Percy at his flat, and George at the flat over the shop.

But it is with the main group of Weasleys that we are concerned with, or rather, one Hermione Jean Granger. Unable to retrieve her parents, or even find them, Hermione was staying with the Weasleys. And it is because of that one miniscule detail that we are concerned with the main group of Weasleys.

One would think that, with the family being together, and having had time to grieve, they would be relaxed. But, no. Everyone was on edge, even Molly, and most especially Ginny and Hermione, but the men as well. Arthur had The Daily Prophet upside down. Harry was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. Ron was nervously running his fingers though his hair and mumbling chess plays. Ginny was fiddling with the silverware. Hermione was fighting with knitting, cursing every time she dropped a stitch, or twisted a loop. Molly was uncharacteristically burning the food. Over and over.

Why? Simply put, politics. All should be smooth sailing, right? No. Not quite. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Minister of Magic, yes. However, he had very limited control, especially after some of the measures passed because of incompetent, bungling fools like Cornelius Fudge. It was the Wizenmagot that had a large portion of control. Control they choose to excerise in making sure the wizarding world was protected and safe from exposure, using some rather… invasive measures. Measures such as giving parents of muggle-borns a choice to either live in the wizarding world as a squib, or give up their magical child for adoption by a magical family. Measures such as making muggle-born witches and wizards choose between living in the muggle world without magic, or living in the wizarding world with magic. And, finally, the topping on the cake, the cherry on the ice cream, the Pièce de résistance. A piece of law that was so blatantly sexist, even the mere thought of it was enough to drive many witches to teeth grinding. A law called, simply, The Marriage Law.

Now, this law did not apply to all witches and wizards. Oh no. The Wizenmagot couldn’t be that unbiased, even after Voldemort. It didn’t apply to purebloods, except in a round-about way. It didn’t apply to males, except, once more, in a round-about way. No, it only applied to muggle-borns. Female muggle-borns, to be exact.

And it was this law that caused everyone in the Weasley house to be on edge. They all loved Hermione, and Hermione was a muggle-born. Female, obviously. Harry had petitioned to adopt Hermione into the Potter family, but they were not sure if that would be enough.

When an owl knocked on the window, it was rather a hilarious sight, if a sad one. Arthur was the calmest, only dropping his paper. Harry slammed the two front legs of the chair back on the floor. Ron tugged a handful of hair out, on accident. Ginny managed to cut her finger on the butter knife. Hermione poked Ginny with one of her needles, and dropped the other. Molly dropped her wand into the boiling teapot.

Hermione was the one to stand up and open the window, gently removing the letter from the owl. Yes, indeed. It had her name on it, Hermione Jane Granger, in big, bold, pink cursive letter. Holding it gingerly by two fingertips, she carried it over to the table amidst silence.

As she was about to open it, Ron spoke up. “’Mione, what if you don’t open it?”

In spite of everything, she rolled her eyes. “Remember, Ron? The ministry deemed it wise to place a tracking charm on any witch they send one to – combined with a modified howler jinx on the letter itself. We will all know, one way or another. I’d rather get it over with now.”

Molly nodded approvingly, as she fished out her wand gingerly from the pot. “Y…yes, dear. That’s the best way to deal with bad news.”

“Go on, Hermione.” Coaxed Ginny, patting her on the back. “It can’t be that bad, surely.”

Hermione glared at Ginny. “Don’t jinx it!”

“Yeah, love.” Was Harrys’ comment. “It could be anyone, after all,  from our own Ron, to one ferret-faced D…”

“Don’t say it!” screeched Hermione, exasperated. “Harry, not helping!”

“Children, settle down.” Was Arthurs’ contribution, nodding kindly to Hermione. “Go on, Hermione.”

Hermione took a deep breath before peeling up the envelope flap, and pulled out the thick creamy parchment. Laying it on the table, and pulling out her wand, she muttered a minor cutting charm on the pad of her thumb. Then, laying down her wand, she squeezed the sides of her thumb, causing the welling blood to drop on the parchment.

Before her eyes, black cursive appeared on the parchment. Hermione sighed, and closed her eyes as the name appeared. Of course. Bloody great.

“Hermione?” asked Molly, worried at the sudden silence. “Who is it?”

Hermione just shook her head, and stalked out the door. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.”

**And, then, Hermione goes to confront her soon-to-be husband, but only finds his mother.**

“Malfoy! Where the bloody hell are you?”

Narcissa Malfoy came out of the library, a frown on her face. “Dear, don’t yell so. Draco isn’t even here. He begged off cleaning duty.” She gestured around, to the almost spotless walls on number twelve Grimmuld Place. “Did you come to help with the books?”

Hermione ground her teeth, reminding herself not to shoot the messenger. And she rather liked Narcissa, after spending most of the summer with the Malfoys’ and Harry cleaning up Grimmuld place. “Cissa, do you know what day today is?” she forced out, proud of herself how calm it sounded.

She looked confused. “Monday, isn’t it? Yes, because yesterday I recall you and Draco screaming at each other over some potion or other.” She smiled fondly at Hermione. “You know, if you just tried to behave civilly, I’m sure you’d get along quite well.”

“Yes. It is Monday. And I received my betrothed husbands’ name in the mail. Would you like to know who it is?”

“Oh, Hermione. I’m sor…” Narcissa paused, and blinked, starting to put pieces together. “Oh. Oh.”

  
“Yes, Oh.” Hermione couldn’t help but be snippy. “Now, where is your coward of a son?”

“I honestly don’t know, darling.” Was Narcissas’ reply, a slight frown on her face. “Anyways, welcome to the family, Hermione.” This last was said with a glint in her eyes that Hermione though a bit odd. “But, perhaps, try the manors’ Quidditch Pitch.”

Hermione sighed. “Thank you, Cissa.”

“Anything, my dear.”

**And, then, Hermione goes to confront her soon-to-be husband, with a rather large fit involved.**

Hermione apparated to the Quidditch pitch of Malfoy Manor. And, yes, indeed. Up in the sky was a broom circling, with the sun glinting off unmistakable blonde hair.

“Sonorous.” muttered Hermione, before taking a deep breath. “DRACO MALFOY! GET YOUR BLOODY ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS MOMENT.” She nodded in satisfaction as Draco immediately turned his broom towards the ground. “Finite Incanteum.” She ended, pocketing her wand. No need to make it easier to maim the ferret.

Draco landed with a slight smirk, running his hand through his hair. “Yes, Hermione Granger? What do you need?”

“Ooh!” snarled Hermione. “You bloody Git! Surely you know what I need.”

Draco frowned, sobering. “No, Granger. I don’t. What in Merlins’ name are you nattering on about?”

“Nattering on about? NATTERING ON ABOUT!?” exclaimed Hermione, about ready to go for her wand. “Are all Malfoys’ clueless as to what day it is? Surely you have gotten the mail, at least.”

“Calm down, Granger.” was Dracos’ reply, backing away a bit. “Its’ Monday, even I know that much. But what does that have to do with anything? We don’t have a meeting till Wednesday.” He sighed. “And, Granger? Do you still have no clue how pure-blood households work? I know you and mother are close. The house-elves get the mail, and we get it at lunch time.”

Hermione growled. “You lazy idiot! GO get the mail, so I can yell at you properly.”

Hermione trailed a rather bewildered Draco into the house. When Draco opened the letter from the ministry (Not needing to bleed on it, of course. The ministry didn't wish to _waste_ preciouse pure blood.), it was Hermiones’ turn to smirk at him, but rather maliciously, as he merely stared at her. “Yup. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“There isn’t anything we can do about it, Granger, except get married.” Here, he leered at her. Which he learned was a mistake when she slapped him.

“You… you pervert!” she glared. “Use your name, your money, I don’t care, SHAG someone if you have to!”

Draco stared at her. “What do you take me for, Granger? You know how severely diminished the Malfoy name is at this point. And I am not a bloody slut.”

“No?” sneered Hermione. “That’s not what it looked like in school.”

“It was all show, Granger, all show!” growled Draco. “Unlike you.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione, almost lost for words. “Excuse me?” she fingered her wand in her pocket.

“Oh, don’t get all high and mighty, ‘Miss know-it-all’.” Draco looked her up and down. “Everyone knew you put out for the other two of the ‘Golden Trio’.”

Now, Hermione was lost for words. “Oh… urk... No! Just, No!”

“No?” Draco actually grinned. “Everyone thought so.”

“You insufferable idiot!”

“What? Its’ the truth.”

Hermione growled. But merely turned on her heel and apparated, not caring to adhere to proper rules of politeness.

**And, then, Draco decides to court Hermione.**

Just like olde fairy tales, Hermione had a year and a day before she had to go through the marriage. And she intended to take full advantage of that year, by ignoring it as much as she could. She had to break up with Ron, of course, but other than that… Life went on as normal. There was only one blemish. The fact that one Draco Malfoy seemed insistent on gaining her… respect? Love?

First was the flowers. The never-ending stream of flowers. That, Hermione could stand, and rather appreciate. However, a Eurasian Eagle Owl? And an entire wardrobe fit for a pureblood witch of an ancient and noble house,, complete with sizing charms? And personalized stationary – overly optimistic, and rather arrogant of the prat, because it was labeled ‘Lady Hermione Malfoy’. And chocolates. And… Well, it went on.

Well, what put the cap on it for Hermione, was the golden Abraxan Mare, complete with a house-elf to care for her, and the offer of a stall at Malfoy Manor to house her.

She didn’t even know how to ride! Yes, the mare was gorgeous, but… Useless.

Sighing, Hermione gave up on ignoring Draco. And after only a week! Gritting her teeth, Hermione apparated to Malfoy Manor.

“Malfoy?” she called, as she left the apparition parlour. “Where are you?”

Narcissa popped her head out of a door frame. “Oh! Mione dear. I missed seeing you. Won’t you have tea with me?”

Hermione smiled. “Sorry Cissa. I must find your son, and talk to him.”

“Would it hurt you to call him by name?” asked Narcissa, with a frown.

“I…No. It wouldn’t.”

“Well, work on it, then.” was Narcissas’ oddly snappish reply, before she smiled again. “Anyways. Draco is gone for the afternoon, with Lucius. Come have tea with me.”

“Yes, Cissa.” Hermione grinned to herself ruefully. Narcissa was near impossible to deny.

Narcissa grinned at her, then stepped out, hooking arms at the elbow. “Good! Come, it is a nice day. Let us have a picnic out by the stables."

“The stables?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, yes.” Was Narcissas’ comment. “And then, we shall go on a ride.”

“But I can’t ride!” exclaimed Hermione, exasperated. “That’s’ what I wanted to talk with your s… Draco about. He gave me an Abraxan.”

Narcissa merely patted her on the hand, with a gentle smile. “Did he, dear? That’s wonderful. Riding is such good excerise.”

Hermione gaped. “What? But Narcissa…”

She shrugged. “My advice is to get used to it, dear. After all, at least it isn’t someone like Goyle.” Then, Narcissa smiled at the   woman. “And you are like a daughter to me already.”

Hermione blinked at the last. Surely not… No, Narcissa may be a rising political figure, especially after the war, but surely she wouldn’t do this to her. They had first met again the summer after the war, when Hermione was acting as a pre-law page in the ministry, and Narcissa was in the process of acquiring a divorce, as virtually unheard of as that was. So, technically, Draco was now a Black, not a Malfoy. And Malfoy Manor was Malfoy Manor in name only. But, as the Malfoy line would pass through Draco, he kept the last name.

And, after literally running into each other, Hermione helped Narcissa – at first, it was because she absolutely despised the sexist views of the wizarding world in such things as marriage and children. Then, as time went on, the two women became fast friends, an odd combination of a mother-daughter realationship, and that of best girl friends.

So, no. As Slytherin as Narcissa was, she wouldn’t force her son and pseudo-daughter into a marriage, would she?

Hermione shook such thoughts out of her head, as she and Narcissa sat down to a delicious lunch.

**And, then, Draco keeps on avoiding Hermione (Or is it Narcissa distracting Hermione?).**

Finally, Hermione decided give up even the slight pretense of denial. Six months into the year and a day, and still she hadn’t managed to find anything on getting out of the marriage law. So, she sat down and penned a letter to her Bethrothed, and attached it to Hypatia, her Eeo. It was simple, asking to meet at one of the newer restaurants in Diagon Alley for supper.

When Hermione arrived, dressed in one of her new robes, she was surprised to see not Draco, but Narcissa waiting for her. “Cissa? Did M…Draco weasel out?”

“Oh, no.” Narcissa replied, gesturing for Hermione to sit down. “He was quite looking forward for tonight. But a family matter came up, and he had to visit Gringotts.”

Hermione sighed. “Fine.” Before realizing she sounded like a petulant child. “I mean, if it was that important, I hope nothing is wrong.”

“Oh, don’t worry dear.” Narcissa smiled. “Just some paperwork, and checking the family vaults.”

“Well, then we’ll have to have a girls’ night out.” grinned Hermione.

“That we will, dear.”

**And, then, Hermione finally tracks down Malfoy, and…**

Finally, Hermione was tired of always running into Narcissa, and never Draco. It was getting ridiculous. So, one night, Hermione took matters into her own hands. Perhaps not in the best way, but she was coming to the end of her rope. After all, there was only two months left. And they hadn’t even set a date for the wedding. Not that she wanted to get married. But the only other alternative was to leave the wizarding world, with her wand snapped and her memories oblivated.

So, in lieu of any better ideas, Hermione dressed in all black, without any over robes, and spun on her heel to apparate to Malfoy Manor. At midnight, mind you.

Without care for the wards (because Narcissa had added her to them), Hermione stalked through the empty halls of the Manor. Oh, she was going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. She understood Draco not wanting to marry her, but to go so far as to avoid her, when the marriage was inevitable?

Slipping into a darkened room, Hermione muttered “Lumos.”

Going over to the bed, she reached out and poked the lump. Rather hard.

“Ow! Bloody Hell.” Draco Malfoy set up bolt upright, immediately awake, and clutching his covers to his chest. When he saw who had poked him, he blinked. “H…Granger? What are you doing here?”

She crossed her arms. “What do you think? You have been avoiding me, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“Nooo…” he drawled. “You are the one who have been ignoring me.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “I have been here almost every day, having tea with your mother. Surely she told you.”

Draco fell back to the bed with a thump, and spoke one word, in a rather exasperated tone of voice, but so low Hermione couldn’t make it out. “Mother.”

“What was that, D…Malfoy?”

He sat back up. “Oh, nothing.” He then looked at her again, as if just realizing she was there. “Bloody hell, Hermione! You cannot just sneak into someones’ bedroom at night!”

She sniffed. “So what? It wasn’t as if I had to be worried about you possibly ‘entertaining’ someone.” She glared at him. “Right?”

“Of course not.” He rolled his eyes. “But, is it possible that I sleep naked, hmmm?”

 “Oh. Sorry. Right. I’ll just…” she gestured as if to turn and leave.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Granger.” was Dracos’ reply, throwing off the covers. Hermione eeped, and whirled around. Draco laughed. A full laugh, deep and rich. “Oh, seriously. Do you sleep naked? I doubt anyone involved in the war does.”

Hermione turned around cautiously, peeping out of her hands. When she realized he was indeed fully clothed in pajamas, she glared at him. “Was that necessary?”

Draco smirked. “Perhaps, perhaps not.” The smirk faded into a frown. “Now, Granger. Might as well sit down and talk, since you’ve gotten me up this…early. And talks such as this should be accompanied with a drink.” He held out his arm, as if he wasn’t in pajamas. “Allow me?”

Hermione took a deep breath. Her reaction to the possibility of him being naked was quite telling. And it was quite improper to be alone at any stage of the ‘courting’ the ministry declared. But…

She took one more deep breath, before nodding, and taking his arm. “Very well. Lead the way, Lord Malfoy.”.

He smiled at her. “Very well, Lady Granger.” This last was said teasingly, with a grin.

Hermione blushed. 

**And, then, they lived happily ever after? No, most likely not.).**

**The End. (For now.)**

 


End file.
